"Hm!" he remarked. "Very nice vase. Let's get on to lunch. I'm
hungry."

Mr. Waddington stopped short upon the pavement and gripped his
companion's arm.

"Burton," he said, a trifle hesitatingly, "you don't think--you don't
imagine--"

"Not a bit of it!" Burton interrupted, savagely. "One must be a little
human now and then. By Jove, old man, there are some ties, if you like!
I always did think a yellow one would suit me."

Mr. Waddington pressed him gently along.

"I am not sure," he muttered, "that we are quite in the mood to buy
ties. I want to ask you a question, Burton."

"Go ahead."

"You were telling me about this wonderful scheme of your friend the
professor's, to make--Menatogen, I think you said. Did you part with
both your beans?"

"Both," Burton replied, almost fiercely. "But I've another fortnight or
so yet. It can't come before--it shan't!"

"You expect, I suppose, to make a great deal of money?" Mr. Waddington
continued.

"We shall make piles," Burton declared. "I have had a large sum already
for the beans. My pockets are full of money. Queer how light-hearted
it makes you feel to have plenty of money. It's a dull world, you know,
after all, and we are dull fellows. Think what one could do, now, with
some of the notes I have in my pocket! Hire a motor-car, go to some
bright place like the _Metropole_ at Brighton--a bright, cheerful,
sociable place, I mean, where people who look interesting aren't above
talking to you. And then a little dinner, and perhaps a music-hall
afterwards, and some supper, and plenty to eat and drink--"

"Burton!" Mr. Waddington gasped. "Stop! Stop at once!"

"Why the dickens should I stop?" Burton demanded.

Mr. Waddington was looking shocked and pained. "You don't mean to tell
me," he exclaimed, "that this is your idea of a good time? That you
would go to a hotel like the _Metropole_ and mix with the people whom
you might meet there, and eat and drink too much, and call it enjoyment?
Burton, what has come to you?"

Burton was looking a little sullen.

"It's all very well," he grumbled. "We're too jolly careful of
ourselves. We don't get much fun. Here's your poky little restaurant.
Let's see what it looks like inside."

They entered, and a _maitre d'hotel_ came hurrying to meet them. Burton,
however, shook his head.

"This place is no good, Waddington," he decided. "Only about
half-a-dozen stodgy old people here, no music, and nothing to look at.
Let's go